


Softly Tender Kitten Kisses

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cat-dad Draco Malfoy, Cat-uncle Harry Potter, Cats, Fluff, Hint of flangst, Kittens, M/M, Writer Draco Malfoy, primary school teacher harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 18:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20605670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: Malfoy finds a queen and her kittens in his cashmere jumper drawer. His face softens as he gently pets the kittens, and the little darlings give tiny littlemeows.And Harry inevitably falls headfirst into warm, tender feelings.





	Softly Tender Kitten Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a certain [cat-dad on twitter](https://twitter.com/pariszarcilla/status/1001748442119593984?lang=en).

Sundays are filled with ruckus. It starts off at Grimmauld Place, where all of his friends, and their friends, congregate for brunch and a pick-up Quidditch out the magically-expanded backyard. After that, Harry and his crew head over to the Burrow for Sunday roast, while the more Slytherin bunch head to their own dinner.

Ruckus made by adults is a nice change from child-ruckus he deals with at his primary school, Harry thinks, even if it’s just as exasperating sometimes. Harry casts an eye over the people there. Luna and Parkinson and Ginny are all huddled together, chatting, and there’s Zabini and Hermione conversing. Nott’s joined Ron and George and Lee and Angelina in their little Quidditch match.

Malfoy’s not here. It wouldn’t be the first time, the self-centered prick. As though you can be so immersed in writing that you _forget!_ Malfoy could at _least_ set an alarm.

“Oh, Harry,” Luna says, coming up to him. “You don’t mind checking up on Draco, do you?”

Harry pulls a face. “Can’t I just send him an owl?”

“No,” Luna says, just as she has said the previous times.

“Fine,” Harry capitulates, as always. “Start brunch without me. I have no idea how long this’ll take,” he adds, muttering darkly.

He shrugs on his leather jacket and apparates to Malfoy’s place. It’s getting a little chilly. Halloween, soon, he thinks a little maudlin. He knocks sharply on the door.

“_Malfoy!_” he calls.

“_Fuck you!_” Malfoy says back. The door opens, but Malfoy’s not there.

Harry rolls at his eyes. Must he _fetch_ Malfoy too? “Malfoy!” he shouts again, closing the door behind him. He casts impervious charms on his shoes, instead of taking them off, and starts searching.

“In _here_,” Malfoy says.

Harry follows his voice into Malfoy’s massive bedroom. He tries not to look at the crisp bed. He laughs when he sees Malfoy sat on his arse on the floor.

“Watcha doing, Malfoy?” Harry says, coming over.

Malfoy glares at him. “Attending to something more important than _you_,” he says archly. He turns back to his open drawer. Harry steps closer, and sees something in Malfoy’s drawer.

Furry _somethings_ in the drawer, one big one and three little ones. A mother cat and her little baby kittens, with a smattering of black, white and grey fur. They’re smack bang on top of Malfoy’s most expensive, beloved cashmere hand-made jumpers (Harry should know, Malfoy’s compared Harry’s clothes to his often enough).

Harry snorts. “I didn’t know you were a cat person, Malfoy.”

“I’m _not_,” Malfoy scowls. But then his entire face softens as he reaches out a hand to the cat and her brood. The mother cat looks at Malfoy, eye to eye, and her head flops down again. Permission granted, Malfoy runs his finger along the fur of the kittens. They make tiny mewing sounds.

Harry’s heart wants to burst.

“Why are they so tiny?” Malfoy mutters. He glares up at Harry. “Damn it, Potter. I need you to go buy books on cat development! Post-haste!”

“Even better, I can grab Hermione,” Harry says.

Malfoy’s scowl darkens. “Fine. Now hurry up!”

The dumbfounded look on Hermione’s face when Harry relays her Malfoy’s request should be kept in a pensieve. The others want to come to, but Hermione tells them _no, sit_, and not to crowd the kittens. So it’s just Harry and Hermione who return to Malfoy’s house.

Something has changed—Malfoy has moved the cat and her kittens, along with his cashmere jumpers, onto his bed instead. Malfoy’s sitting primly on the bed, at odds with the finger gently petting each kitten in turn. The temperature in the room is warmer, too.

Hermione’s eyes widen. “Oh, they’re so _cute_,” she gushes.

Harry hangs back as Hermione and Malfoy make a separate cat bed with raised sides. She dumps lots of information on Malfoy about food, and cleaning, and the high importance of vet visiting.

“And, _oh_,” she adds, “You might want to check a muggle vet, too, in case she’s chipped and belongs to someone.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “If she _did _belong to someone, they _clearly_ don’t deserve her!”

Harry silently agrees, on the fact that he doesn’t want someone taking away the kittens. They’re much more adorable and sweet then Hermione’s horror of a Crookshanks.

Hermione’s eyes narrow back. “Now listen here, Malfoy—”

“Why don’t I help Malfoy find a vet?” Harry interrupts. “I bet I could ask one of the parents, they’ll probably know.”

Hermione takes a step back. “Very well. That’s it. You know all the basics—you can get the rest from _books_, Malfoy.”

Harry leads Hermione out. “He’s just being a bit possessive over them,” Harry says. “You know how Malfoys are.”

Hermione gives him a disgruntled look. “No, I don’t. But _you_ do.”

Harry protests, but Hermione just shakes her head. “Won’t be good to get attached to them. I’m heading back to Grimmauld Place. Coming?”

“I...want to discuss something more with Malfoy?”

“Don’t kill each other,” she says with exasperation. She apparates away, and Harry heads back to Malfoy’s bedroom.

“Not gone yet?” Malfoy says archly.

“Er—assuming I find a vet, what day would you be free?”

Malfoy gives him a disgruntled look. “I’m _technically_ free everyday. As you keep telling me that I don’t have a _proper_ job.”

Harry flushes. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath. He’s drawn back to the kittens. “Can I?”

Malfoy snorts. “I can’t stop you.” He shifts aside, so that Harry can pet the kittens.

_Oh_. They’re soft. Warm bodies shifting as they breathe and snuggle up with their mum.

Harry glances over at Malfoy. Malfoy looks soft, too. His heart skips a beat, and he forces himself to look back at the kittens.

*

As expected, Harry’s able to get the name of a recommended veterinarian from parents of the children he teaches at Charms Primary. Harry makes the appointment under his name—_not_ as a reason to see the kittens again, but simply because it’s easier than relaying this information to Malfoy and waiting for Malfoy to make the appointment.

Hence, barely a week later on Saturday morning, Harry heads over to Malfoy’s place. He finds Malfoy in his bedroom, softed-eyed over a large basket. The inside of the basket is lined with no-doubt cashmere blankets, and the cat and her kittens are safely ensconced inside.

“No apparating, no flooing, no portkeying,” Malfoy says sharply to him.

Harry scowls. “What do you take me for? We could either take a muggle taxi, or fly there.”

Malfoy purses his lips. “Muggle cars are _hazards_, Potter. Let’s fly.”

Harry thinks flying is more hazardous, but he knows that Malfoy won’t let harm come to the cats.

Malfoy ends up with his own broomstick, the handle of the basket hooked on the front broom and slapped with heavy stabilisation charms. Harry flies alongside, partly to lead the way, and partly to keep a second eye.

They land on a space dedicated for apparition arrivals and head inside.

“Appointment under Harry Potter,” Harry says with a confident air to the receptionist.

The witch glances at him, and her brows go right up. “It’s _really_ you,” she says in disbelief. “Well. Just wait here, and Dr. Carlos Birch will be with you when he’s free.”

Harry slinks back to Malfoy, unwilling to tell him that they’ll have to wait. But Harry needn’t worry, since Malfoy’s entirely focused on casting diagnostics and making sure the kittens and their mother are okay.

Harry smiles despite himself and pets the mother cat. “She’s quite beautiful,” he says, tracing the parts where white fur meets black.

“_Bast_ is a goddess,” Malfoy says archly. “She is beyond your mere standards of beauty.”

Harry’s brows pinch together. “Like, bastard?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrows. “_Bast_ as in _Bast_, the Goddess of Cats and Deity of the Sun.”

Harry wishes he’d just kept his mouth shut, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising to his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mutters. “The name suits her.” He goes to pet the kittens, and Malfoy’s miffed posture softens.

“That’s Hyperion,” Malfoy says, of a mostly white-grey kitten. “Cassiopeia,” he says, of a mostly white kitten with a handful of spots. “And Delphinus,” he says, of a mostly grey kitten with the slightest tinge of brown.

_Big names for little kittens_, Harry thinks, but is smart enough to not say out loud. “Do they have a family name?” he jokes.

The look on Malfoy’s face is clear. _Obviously_. Harry shouldn’t have asked.

“Harry Potter?” comes a deep voice with a slight roll on the r’s.

Harry and Malfoy turn to Dr. Carlos Birch. He’s tall as Malfoy, but more built, with light bronze skin and curly black hair that’s _tamed_ unlike Harry’s mess.

“Yes,” Malfoy says, standing up with his basket of cats.

“I’m technically accompanying Malfoy,” Harry says.

Birch’s eyes flick appreciatively to Malfoy. “Well. Mr. Malfoy, is it? Call me Carlos.”

Malfoy barely glances at Birch, instead leading the way to the examination room himself.

Birch does the test for a muggle chip, and it comes up negative.

“They’re yours,” Birch says. “Would you like to register them?”

“Of course,” Malfoy says, absently petting the cats. He rattles off their names—complete with their _Malfoy_ family name—and Birch takes it with good humour, telling Malfoy what a great cat-dad he is, always saying the _right things_.

Harry tries not to shuffle his feet.

Birch grins. “Now let’s give them a little checkup, hmm?”

Harry feels rather invisible as Birch and Malfoy converse. The kittens are all well and healthy, and mother-cat is too, though Harry thinks Birch’s praise is rather much. At least Malfoy doesn’t seem _that_ affected—the prat just takes it as his due.

Finally, the checkup ends—though not without Birch scheduling another one in a month’s time.

“I _could_ come and do a house-visit,” Birch says.

“That will not be necessary,” Malfoy says, not even looking at Birch, but at his charges instead.

_Heh_, Harry thinks, feeling vindictive. Fit handsome Carlos Birch is no match for adorable cat creatures.

Malfoy gives Harry a look, but says nothing more when Harry accompanies Malfoy on the flight back to Malfoy’s place.

The little creatures are asleep, according to Malfoy, tired after their excursion.

“I’m going to take the time to _write_,” he says.

“Oh.” Harry looks at the kittens. He doesn’t stop looking.

Malfoy huffs. “Fine. You can stay. But be quiet!”

“I’ll throw in lunch, too?” Harry says, widening his eyes winningly.

Malfoy’s unable to say no to _that_. He looks away, tiniest spots of pink on his cheeks, and gives a dismissive wave. “Very well.”

Malfoy goes into his own special study room to work, while Harry transfigures one of his socks into a plush rug alongside the cats’ bed.

A camera, Harry thinks, is highly necessary to capture them. He pets them absently, and when they wake up, he even _Evanesco_s their waste and cleaning-charms their bedding. Harry would make a _great_ cat-uncle. Now if only Malfoy would let him.

*

Malfoy opens the door. It’s Friday night, and Harry should be at the pub with his friends. Instead, he’s standing outside Malfoy’s door with a bag of cat food in one hand, and a bag of cat toys and a rugged muggle camera in the other. Back home, all of his marking has been done so that he could come here guilt-free.

Malfoy huffs the tiniest of exasperated huffs, and waves Harry in.

Harry drops the cat food in Malfoy’s kitchen, and then heads straight for his bedroom. The cats’ bed has doubled in size, and _oh shit shit shit_, the little kittens’ eyes are _open!_ They’re sweet baby blue, and Harry sinks to his knees in supplication of their cuteness.

Malfoy joins Harry on the new set of cushions set around the cats’ bed, and starts rummaging through all the cat toys Harry has. Between then, they try them all out, but at the end of the day, there’s nothing like petting the little things as they try and stand and shuffle about their enclosure. Harry finds himself behind the camera, sometimes, taking photos of the kittens _with_ Malfoy more often than not. He can’t help it—who knew Malfoys could look like _that_?

Mama cat has her dinner first, and then the little kittens do. When they’re sleepy—for now—Malfoy and Harry retreat to the dining room to have their own dinner.

“So,” Harry says. “What are you writing?”

Malfoy gives him a flat look. “Do try to be more honest, Potter,” he drawls. “You’re merely here for the kittens.”

“Well, it’s not _my_ fault that they chose _your_ drawer full of cashmere jumpers!”

Malfoy smirks.

Harry huffs. “I mean it, Malfoy. What _are_ you writing? It’s not a secret, is it? Give me some adult conversation, here.”

“Children being rowdy in your class?” Malfoy drawls.

Harry narrows his eyes and points his fork at Malfoy. “Hey! It’s not their fault!”

Malfoy says nothing more.

“_Come on_, Malfoy,” Harry tries again. There may or may not be a whine to his voice. He tries pouting.

Malfoy inexplicable flushes pink. “Well,” he says. “I’m actually writing a children’s book. It’s about a young girl and her kitten, and they go adventuring.”

Harry’s chest swells. “That’s..._adorable_, Malfoy. Do you have an illustrator for it, too? I bet Dean or Luna would _love_ to the moment they see Bast and her kittens.”

Malfoy’s eyes dart to him. “Oh, come _on_, Potter. They’re _your_ friends.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I _know_ Luna’s your friend too, at the very least. Didn’t you used to be able to draw, too?” Harry smirks. “Those love notes you sent me.”

Malfoy splutters. “They were _threatening_ notes, Potter,” he scowls.

Harry, however, is mighty tickled about riling Malfoy up. “Awww, don’t say that,” he teases. “You folded them up into cute little cranes and _everything_.”

“Making a thousand of them grants you a wish,” Malfoy retorts. “And if I could annoy _you_ at the same time, all the better.”

Harry grins. “What? And you’ll wish for even more opportunities to annoy me?”

Malfoy gives him a deeply disgruntled look and returns to his dinner.

Harry pulls a face.

“Oh, just eat up,” Malfoy says. “Before the kittens wake up again.”

Now _that_ is motivation. The two of them finish eating in a companionable silence, and then Malfoy charms the dishes to wash themselves.

They both head back into the bedroom: the kittens are still asleep, making little soft noises and tiny twitches. Malfoy leaves the room for a moment, and he comes back with books in his hands. Harry gets to his feet, and is surprised to accept a slim book about kitten care.

“I know you’re going to be bored and complain otherwise,” Malfoy says shortly.

“_Oh._” He looks at Malfoy. “You know, deep down, you’re kind of nice wizard after all—”

Malfoy scowls, stepping right up to Harry. “Malfoys aren’t _nice_, Potter.”

Malfoy’s eyes are grey. Silver, too. Harry already knows this. But his heart is beating hard.

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “Now sit down, read, and keep quiet.” With that, Malfoy reclines back on his bed, opening one of his books.

There’s an inexplicable sense of loss. Harry sinks back down on the cushions next to the kittens and idly opens the book Malfoy gave him.

Presently, when Harry puts down his book, having reached the point about worming treatments and _visiting the vet_ (and scowling at the thought), he finds that one of the kittens—Cassiopeia, the mostly white kitten with a handful of spots—has awoken, and is shuffling around her mum.

Harry immediately grabs a cat toy and his camera, and Malfoy gets pulled down alongside him.

“Look!” Harry says. “She’s trying to stand up!”

“A leader, my Cassiopeia,” Malfoy says seriously. His long, delicate fingers pet Cassiopeia’s fur, and she shuffles over to them, much to Harry’s utter delight. Each successive photo has Cassiopeia, till the point that she’s right up against it, licking the lens.

With an indulgent expression on his face, Malfoy gently lifts Cassiopeia and plops her back by Bast. Bast leans up and licks her kitten, and Cassiopeia snuggles in to feed. Her two brothers, Hyperion and Delphinus also awake, batting at each other, attempting to climb over their mum.

Harry grins widely at their antics, softly egging them on. They lick his fingers with their tiny rough tongues and Harry barely notices the _snap_s of the camera as Malfoy takes some pictures.

“Now time for bed,” Malfoy says sternly. “Your mother is very tired.”

Harry pouts, but he helps nudge the kittens back to Bast. The lights dim around the cats’ enclosure.

He blinks when Malfoy takes out a book and something in his chest swells with delight and melts in warmth when Malfoy starts reading in a soft, low voice.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a Queen cat, and her little kitten children…”

Harry leans back against the bed, letting Malfoy’s voice wash over him. Bast is purring, low in her chest.

And Harry falls asleep.

*

Harry wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, still mostly dressed. It takes him stumbling out of the room to realise that he _was_ in Malfoy’s guest bedroom.

His mouth doesn’t feel awful the way it usually does when he doesn’t brush his teeth before bed. The thought that Malfoy had used a cleaning charm on his teeth, that Malfoy _carried Harry to bed_ makes Harry light-headed. He quickly shoves such thoughts away and slips over to Malfoy’s bedroom.

Malfoy’s still asleep, white-blond hair poking out from his duvet. Harry creeps in and checks on the cats: they’re still asleep. _Like cat-dad, like cat_, Harry thinks to himself.

Harry heads to the kitchen. He pokes around the cupboards, and pulls out familiar ingredients.

When Malfoy wonders in, Harry sets down a plate of crepes right before his bewildered face.

“Did you know that I also teach basic cooking skills to the kids at my school?” Harry says conversationally.

Malfoy’s eyes, which were narrowing with suspicion, now open again as he smirks. “Do you wear little chef hats too?”

“No, but the kids would _love_ that. Thanks, Malfoy!” Harry says cheerfully.

“You’ll probably do well to spend more time with me,” Malfoy says, offhand. “Your intelligence will increase as a result.”

Harry grins. “_Or_ I could drag you down with me!”

Malfoy’s unamused face has Harry chuckling.

After their breakfast, and the cats’ breakfast, Harry has to leave. But Malfoy’s words are as good as an invitation, aren’t they?

And so it happens again and again: an evening here, and evening there, more and more pub nights missed while Harry’s at Malfoy’s, entertaining the cats, and listening in on their bedtime story, and more than once making breakfast the next day.

*

It’s Sunday, Harry’s at Grimmauld Place, and brunch is underway. Harry feels like something’s missing.

“Oi, mate,” Seamus says, clapping Harry on the back. “What’s up with you and pub nights these days?”

“Malfoy’s got kittens,” Harry says wistfully. “They’re starting to learn how to use the litter tray.”

Seamus pulls a face. “Can’t you just vanish it?”

Harry snorts. “You don’t understand. They’re growing up!” Harry stops. They’re growing up. They’re big enough to travel by _floo_. “YES!” Harry shouts. “Why don’t I get Malfoy and the cats over?”

He doesn’t wait for anyone’s response—he ignores some of their groans, and floos right over to Malfoy’s (some time in the interim, Harry's pestered Malfoy to allow him floo access).

Malfoy’s right in the sitting room, writing on his floating tabletop as the kittens clamber over him in their explorations.

“Malfoy! Bast! Hyperion! Cassiopeia! Delphinus!” Harry greets. “Come to Sunday brunch with me?”

“No.”

Harry pouts, crouching down and picking up Cassiopeia, the first kitten to patter over to him. “Come _on_, Malfoy! It’ll be great for the kittens, don’t you think? A whole new place to explore!” Harry pets Cassiopeia. “Don’t you think so?” he says to her. She mews with delight, and so Harry nuzzles her against his cheek and looks with wide, innocent eyes at Malfoy. “See, Malfoy? Cassiopeia agrees. We can floo, it’ll be _easy_.”

Malfoy’s eyes widen. He stares, and then abruptly turns his head. “_Fine_,” he says in an aggrieved tone. He sends his work floating back to his study room, and summons the large cat basket instead.

Harry puts Cassiopeia inside, and her brothers follow her mews.

“Come now, darlings,” Malfoy says to them, beckoning Bast over, and helping the kittens in. “There, all settled?” he drawls, tone indulgent.

Harry clears his throat and takes a step towards the floo. “All good?”

“Lead the way, Potter.”

Glancing back, Harry returns to Grimmauld Place first, stumbling as usual on the sitting-room rug. He’s nervous that Malfoy had fooled him, but a few moments later, the flames turn green and Malfoy and his large basket of cats emerge.

Malfoy sniffs at the surroundings, but he places the basket down on the rug, and lets the kittens out. Bast stalks up onto the back of the armchair.

Harry beams and strides towards the dining room where most people are. “They’re here! Come see!”

Hermione and Luna head to the sitting room first, and Harry’s extremely gratified to see them showering love on the kittens and mother cat. One by one, everyone else trickles in too, and Harry happily re-introduces all the names, feeling like the proudest kitten uncle, while Malfoy watches over proceedings with a sharp eye (the worrywart).

Harry grins to himself when he sees Dean head over to Malfoy, saying, “Hey, I heard from Harry about that childrens’ book of yours.”

Malfoy shoots Harry a sharp look, and Harry smirks and wriggles his eyebrows. Malfoy rolls his eyes, and replies to Dean.

Harry looks back at the kittens, playing with George and Ron. Ginny has the camera, and so there isn’t much for Harry to do but smile.

“So,” Hermione says, appearing at Harry’s side.

“Mmmm,” Harry says, eyes still on the kittens.

“So you’re dating Draco now,” she continues.

Harry’s head snaps to her. “What? _No!_” In his protest, he’s unaware of the heads that turn his way.

Hermione snorts. “Harry, come on, you don’t need to hide.”

“_Hermione_,” he says. “I’m not.”

“You have dinner dates with him,” she says with exasperation. “You’re spending _nights_ with him.”

“I’m only there to help look after the kittens!” Harry protests. “Anyone would go spare looking after kids by themselves. Cats are no different!”

“Harry.”

“Hermione, I’m not dating him,” Harry says, lowering his voice. His chest tightens. “Malfoy doesn’t like me that much, anyway. But at least I can provide cat toys and be someone to hold the camera.” Harry doesn’t let Hermione reply, instead turning sharply on his heel to grab some more snacks for both humans and cats.

*

Across the room, Draco’s eyes cast down, breath sharp shards in his lungs. _Only there to look after the kittens_, he thinks. Of course, Potter only cares about the cats.

Bast comes up to him, and so Draco puts the stupid thoughts away and dutifully rubs behind Bast’s ear.

*

Harry wakes up on the next Saturday morning—in Malfoy’s guest bedroom as usual—with a sense of disquiet.

He makes dutch babies for breakfast, big puffed up pancakes, accompanied with cinnamon apples, fresh berries, and luscious ice cream he finds in Malfoy’s frozen cupboard.

Malfoy doesn’t quite look at him though, eyes always sliding past, or fixed a little ways off. “You needn’t cook as though it’s _payment_ for bed,” he drawls, lifting his tea cup. He doesn’t loosen up as he eats.

“I just like cooking,” Harry says, something falling in his chest. It seems as though Malfoy is forcing himself to eat what Harry has made.

Malfoy’s lips go wry. “I see.” His eyes flick to Harry’s briefly. “I take it you’ll be accompanying me to the veterinarian again?”

Harry jolts. “_Ugh_. Right.” He scowls down at his half eaten breakfast.

Malfoy scoffs. “No need with that kind of attitude, Potter.”

“No,” Harry says, glaring at Malfoy. “I’m _coming_ and you _can’t stop me_.”

“They’re _my_ cats,” Malfoy retorts. “Don’t be so bloody attached.”

Harry flinches. For a brief moment, Malfoy looks regretful. But then, Malfoy glances away, standing up from the table.

“I’m preparing for their transport. We’ll floo,” he says with a deep sense of finality. He turns and leaves the room.

Harry slumps.

*

Dr. Carlos Birch’s all charming smiles as he ushers Malfoy with his cat basket into the examination room. Harry trails behind them like a fucking knob.

Birch glides through the examination, chatting with Malfoy candidly about the worming process for the kittens, and how to handle their transition to solid foods. Harry shuffles in to listen, and pets the kittens. At least the kittens love him.

“Say, Draco,” Birch says, voice dropping.

Harry’s immediately focused. Bloody Dr. Birch calls Malfoy _Draco_. Swallowing, he picks up little Hyperion to pretend he’s not paying attention.

“Why don’t I make house calls from now on, Draco?” Birch continues in a low voice. “I have a portable kit, and I’ll save you time in the waiting room.”

Hyperion mews loudly in Harry’s hands. “Sorry—_sorry!_” Harry gasps, loosening his hold and utterly mortified as Malfoy and Birch look at him—a curious, pitying look on Birch and a disapproving frown on Malfoy.

“That’s quite unnecessary,” Malfoy says to Birch. “Potter, put Hyperion back down so that we may leave. I wouldn’t overstay my appointment, Carlos.”

Birch smiles wryly. “Thanks, Draco.”

Harry keeps his mouth shut as he follows Malfoy back to his place.

Malfoy sets the basket down, letting Bast and her kittens out, exploring the new collection of toys Harry had brought over the night before.

Then, he turns to Harry, eyes dark.

“What the fuck was that, Potter?”

Harry scowls, crossing his arms defensively. “What? Look, I didn’t hurt Hyperion! You know I wouldn’t!”

Malfoy scoffs. “Really? You seemed mighty focused on glaring at Carlos the whole time.”

“I was _not_, you fucking arsehole!”

Malfoy steps up to him, jaw tight. “In a sordid relationship with Carlos? Found out he was cheating on you?”

Harry stares at Malfoy in utter disbelief. “Merlin, _you’re_ one to talk!”

Malfoy’s lip curls. “Oh. So you’re _jealous_ of the vet?”

Harry presses his lips tightly together. His head is getting filled with white noise. Only the truth rises to his mind. Because yes, he _is_ jealous of damn perfect Carlos Birch.

Malfoy blinks, and rocks back on his heels. “You _are_. Salazar, you’re _not_ my keeper, Potter!” Malfoy half turns—

—it feels like he’s leaving. Harry’s hand shoots out and grasps Malfoy’s arm. “It’s because _I like you!_” Harry blurts out desperately.

Malfoy shakes Harry off, sneering. “You like my _cats_.”

“No. C’mon Malfoy, no, I like both. You. And the cats. And _you_.” Harry’s brows draw together, lips downturned. He grabs Malfoy’s arm with both hands. “Malfoy. Don’t go. Look, I know you don’t like me, but don’t make me go.”

Malfoy’s eyes snap to him.

Harry holds his breath, because he can’t breathe.

Malfoy’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You..._pardon_?”

“Both,” Harry says earnestly. “I’m their cat uncle, aren’t I? And you’re my...one-sided friend?”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself,” Malfoy says, voice gruff.

The kittens mew at their feet, and both of them look to the cats.

“I thought you were only here for them,” Malfoy admits, voice softening.

“I’m not,” Harry admits, his voice also soft. He can’t help it, between Malfoy and the kittens.

Malfoy shifts, moving Harry’s hands off of his arm...and into his own hands. “Potter,” he says, grey eyes gazing in Harry’s soul.

Harry sucks a breath. “Malfoy,” he whispers back. He licks his lips, eyes dipping down. And then flushes, from his cheeks down his neck at the scandalous thought.

The kittens mew again, and this time Bast joins in too. Harry chuckles awkwardly. “We can’t ignore our cats, can we?”

Malfoy purses his lips, eyes considering. “How would you,” he starts, slowly and deliberately, “like to co-parent?”

Harry’s eyes widen, his mouth makes an _oh_.

“Oh, _yes_,” he breathes. He throws his arms around Malfoy. “Yes!”

He releases a stunned Malfoy a moment later and crouches down with the kittens. Absolutely beaming, Harry gathers them all up. “Did you hear that? Bast? Cassiopeia and Hyperion and Delphinus? I’m going to be your cat dad too!”

Malfoy crouches down next to him, and a tentative arm circles his shoulders. “Yes, yes he is,” he says. His voice is heavy with indulgence and his eyes are full of promise.

  


* * *

_Epilogue_

  


Draco sets down his quill and peers over his papers. He’s sitting in his sitting room, half reclining with his floating writing surface. At his feet are dozens of discarded cat toys.

Harry’s sleeves are rolled up, squinting at a set of tiny instructions for the playground for cats. The construction is multileveled, reaching almost to the ceiling. Bast has climbed to the top, but the kittens are curling in and out of the discarded boxes. They’re older now, and insanely curious. Draco has to keep renewing the cat-safe spells around his house, because they keep unravelling somehow, even though they’re not kneazles.

(But then again, perhaps they take after their mother—afterall, Bast had somehow gotten through Draco’s wards and into his closed cashmere sweater drawer to give birth to her kittens.)

He casts a quick _Tempus_: it’s almost dinner time. The moment Draco sends his writing things flying back to his study, little Delphinus immediately pads over to him and starts scratching at his leg. With a fond smile, Draco picks him up and places him on his lap.

“How are you, my little kitten?” he says, gently petting Delphinus. Delphinus mews and then starts purring.

_Click!_

Draco curls his lip: Harry’s camera is pointed towards him and Delphinus. “Shouldn’t you be finishing your contraption?” he says.

Harry pouts. Draco would kiss those lips, if he weren’t busy indulging Delphinus.

“What’s the point anyway?” Harry says. “They like the cardboard boxes better! I should have _known_.”

Draco points his wand at the uncompleted cat tree contraption. “_Reparo!_” Little bits fly, and the whole thing rights itself so that the horizontal parts are horizontal and the vertical parts are vertical.

Harry sticks his tongue out. “That’s _cheating_.”

“Is it cheating, Bast?”

Bast, on her perch on top of the cat tree, nonchalantly licks her fur. Draco smirks at Harry. “I think not,” he says smugly.

Draco stands up, placing Delphinus down on the floor. A little charm makes the ball of yarn roll by, and Delphinus diligently runs after it.

Draco navigates the clutter on the floor over to Harry. “Why don’t you take a rest, and I’ll prepare dinner, hmm? You’ve been working _so hard_,” he drawls.

Harry immediately plops his butt down on the nearest sofa and gives Draco a thumbs up. His green eyes sparkle with mischief.

Rolling his eyes, Draco steps over. Bracing a hand against the back of the sofa, he drops a kiss on the tip of Harry’s nose.

“Now, _behave_,” Draco says sternly.

Harry gives him a besotted look, the idiot. Or perhaps Draco’s the idiot for falling the git.

Draco drops another kiss on Harry’s forehead before heading to the kitchen.

In the hallway, on the cupboards doors, are dozens of framed and unframed photos of the cats. Draco would have preferred a more refined approach (that is, tasteful photos above the mantle, and stacks of photo albums), but Harry has never been one for decor

Draco finds himself smiling fondly, and feels silly. It’s the kittens’ and Harry’s damned influence, he thinks. It’s hard these days to muster up literary angst to write high-brow novels. But in the quiet moments, Draco can admit to himself: loving them is inevitable.

_The End._

  


**Author's Note:**

> 😏
> 
> Feel free to point out any SPaG errors 😅


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